He doesn't answer but looks less grumpy than usual. His hair sticks up in adorable spikes, and it takes everything in me not to cross the room and run my hand over his head like I used to.
“Is your iPad charged for school?” I ask. His school issued every kid a tablet at the beginning of the year. Something about being a STEM school. I hate it because it means Geoffrey doesn’t have to learn to spell or type on a keyboard. Autocorrect and voice-to-text are his best friends.
“Yeah,” he grunts.
“Fill your water bottle, please.”
He slouches to his backpack to pull out the water bottle and fill it.
“I’m glad you showered.” There, some positive reinforcement. “Did you put on deodorant?”
He sniffs his shirt like he’s checking. For a kid with such a sensitive sense of smell, you’d think he’d notice his own increased body odors.
“Geo…” I don’t want to nag. He gets so defensive as if I’m criticizing his new body and its smells rather than trying to make sure he takes care of basic hygiene.
With a grunt, he turns and stomps back up the stairs. He’s so touchy about smells I had to buy five different brands of deodorant before I found him one he didn’t hate. It’s a natural one with a cedar and sandalwood scent.
When did my sweet boy turn into a stinky, grouchy teen? It was so much easier when I could tickle him out of his bad moods. Now, tickling rarely works, and the last time I tried, I was shocked by how long his limbs were–I nearly got kicked.
I bustle around the kitchen, making him a plate of food and setting it on the table.
“Breakfast is ready,” I call up the stairs and bite my tongue before I nag him to get it while it’s hot. Thinking of a task I forgot to ask Kelly about, I dial her back as I busy myself with wiping down counters and emptying the dishwasher. It’s usually Geo’s job, but if he does it now, he’ll be late for school. At least he took out the trash. He didn’t put a new trash bag in the bin, but it’s a start.
A cold draft leaks in from the front of the house, and when I check it, I find the front door has cracked open.
“Okay, that was it. I need to get Geo out the door, but I’ll be available in a half hour,” I promise Kelly, ending the call while staring at the open door. I gasp and grasp the handle. I know I locked it and threw the deadbolt last night. Did Geo go out?
In the street, it looks like something knocked over the trash bin. Trash is strewn into the street. I grab a coat and hustle out to clean the mess up.
Geo must have forgotten to close the lid, and an enterprising raccoon took advantage. A chicken carcass from last night’s dinner is strewn across the pavement. I grab a ripped-up cloth and use it to pick up the smellier bits of trash.
I’m almost done when I realize what I’m clutching. The ripped-up cloth is a t-shirt. And not just any t-shirt, but a band t-shirt. The front reads Faust and has a picture of Luna, the lead singer, howling into the microphone.
Faust is Geo’s favorite band, and he treasures each piece of memorabilia like a dragon hoarding his treasure. There’s no way he’d throw this shirt away, but here it is stuffed into the trash can. He wore this shirt last night, and now it’s torn to shreds like a wild animal got a hold of it. There are dull red smears on the faded fabric.
And it hits me. I know what happened last night. Why the door was open and why this shirt is torn. I grip the shirt so hard my knuckles go white.
“Oh God, it’s happening.” I’ve half-hoped for, half-dreaded this day would come. That Geo’s shifter genes would surface, and he’d become a wolf like his father.
It’s time to have the talk.
Well, we’ve already had the first talk. I reminded him when he first got underarm hair and his voice started cracking that he may shift. It seemed he’d forgotten over the years. He knows he’s different. That he’s much stronger and heals faster than his classmates. That it’s imperative he hides that from all humans. But we haven’t talked about shifting in years. I didn’t bring it up because…well, I wasn’t even sure if he’d become a wolf. He’s half-human, half-shifter. Geoffrey told me sometimes half-breeds can’t shift. I didn’t want to get Geo’s hopes up that he’d have some kind of superpower only for him to be disappointed.
But I also didn’t want him to be taken by surprise if he did end up having the ability to shapeshift. So we’d talked once, and then I never brought it up again.
But now, it seems it’s happening. Geo’s shifter genes were strong enough. He’s a wolf, like his father.
And I have absolutely no idea how to help him through this life change.
I head back inside, my coffee sloshing in my stomach. When I reach the front door, I get another nasty surprise. There are claw marks on the faded wood, down at the bottom. The bronze doorknob is crushed, which is impossible. Unless… someone unnaturally strong gripped it hard and broke it. Someone who didn’t know his own strength.
Geo is at the table, scarfing down his breakfast, barely chewing each mouthful. Geoffrey ate like that, especially after a shift.
“Mijo.” I approach him slowly. “Last night, did you…” How do I say this?
Geo looks up and blanches when he sees the torn shirt I’m holding. His expression shutters. “I don't want to talk about it.”
“Sweetie.” I sink down into a chair next to him. “It's normal. It's nothing to be ashamed of.”
“I said, I don't want to talk about it.” He shoves away from the table and stomps off to the living room.
“We need to talk about it.” I follow him. “Did you leave the house during the night?”
He’s at the door, putting on his coat. He mumbles something.
“What was that?”
“You know I did,” he says loudly, his eyes flashing bright green.
“What happened to your shirt?” I hold up the torn cloth. “Did you get in a fight? Is this your blood?”
“No. I…hunted.” He mutters the last word.
I force myself to swallow past the tight band around my throat. “You were a wolf.”
He ducks his head, looking away. He tried to hide this from me–does he not want me to know? Does he think I’m ashamed of him? I’m messing this up.
I set the shirt down on a side table and try again. “Geo, it’s normal for a boy–a shifter–your age to start to shift. Your father and I hoped you would inherit his genes. This is a good thing.”
He ignores me, swinging on his backpack.
“I think we should talk about this.”
“Mom, no. I’m going to be late.” He opens the front door and slips out.
I’m not a shifter. How do I even begin to help Geo navigate puberty?
While I was pregnant, Geoffrey and I talked about our son possibly having shifter genes, but the adolescent onset of his shifter powers was so far away. Discussing the future and facing reality are two different things.
And it’s not like there are parenting books I can read. How to train your shifter animal. Seven steps to easy shifting.
Geo was out last night. He turned into a wolf, tore his shirt and somehow got blood on it. At least it wasn’t his blood.
He’s only thirteen. He can’t be running around at night. As a wolf. What if someone saw him?